Day 15 – Midnight Blue Moon

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Image source: Unsplash.com

Midnight Blue Moon

Midnight with you when the moon becomes blue.

Hindsight rendezvous when the moon becomes blue.

 

Mixed emotions cascade as owl heart serenades.

Forthright with you when the moon becomes blue.

 

Pain and regret shades our shadow masquerade.

Moonlight paints you when the moon becomes blue.

 

Sketching our love made where lines of us fade.

Rewrite what’s due when the moon becomes blue.

 

Hearts breaking, remade forged in fires betrayed.

Ignite on cue when the moon becomes blue.

 

Outright loss, dismayed when what’s lost is weighed.

Outright untrue when the moon becomes blue.

 

Destiny dissuades fate as line-of-sight swayed.

Starlight breaks through when the moon becomes blue.

 

In light tricks that strayed, Venus can’t retrograde.

Tonight, please be true when the moon becomes blue.

 

Enchanter’s nightshade bade our touch, unafraid.

Twilight out of view when the moon becomes blue.

 

Desire unbraids us, pooling very dark, marmalade

I fight to subdue when the moon becomes blue.

 

Expired, remade, us, fueling Barry’s lark escapade.

Sleep tight, bid adieu when the moon becomes blue.

** *

And just like that, we’re halfway done with NaPoWriMo. I gotta be honest; this is fun, but it is kicking my ass. Sorry I haven’t visited my fellow poets as often as I’d like to. Between writing every day, working my day job, being present for Wifey, and all the other real life stuff, I feel like I barely have time to look up, eat, or bathe. I have no idea how you other poetry bloggers find the time to do all that you do, especially those of you who host prompts. You’re all amazing to me.

I just felt like writing a ghazal today. No prompt, no sharing, no pingbacks. Just a ghazal.

It’s weird. Whenever a new Kendrick Lamar album enters my music rotation, I start thinking in nested rhymes, which is pitch-perfect for the ghazal form.

Day 14 – K-Dot’s Clerihew

K-Dot’s Clerihew

Kendrick Lamar

Rhymes and bars, well above par

Just clearing his throat to give it proper dapper speech

Power-steering hip-hop beyond popular rapper’s reach

** *

I followed NaPoWriMo’s day 14 clerihew prompt. I’ve been listening to his album all evening, and he’s ruined Hip-Hop for me. Who the hell is talented enough to follow this masterpiece? It’s over. Nobody else make anymore rap songs. K-Dot fucked it up for everybody.

Day 11 – Pills

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Pills

I’m sitting in your bathroom with a bottle of your pills. I fished them from your medicine cabinet. I didn’t read the bottle. It’s the only way I know how to get your attention. I am desperate to win you back from him. I don’t care if he’s smarter than me or better looking. I don’t care that he’s on-track to become our high school valedictorian. It doesn’t matter that he can discuss the finer points of Germany’s unification with your mom while I sit silently, thinking about Optimus Prime dunking on Megatron. I don’t even care that he’s your ex-boyfriend and you think your feelings have reawakened. I don’t give a shit about any of that. He can’t possibly love you like I do. No fucking way. That’s why I’m sitting on the windowsill in your bathroom, waiting for you to come in here to witness how much more I love you than he does. I probably won’t take them, but you need to see that my life isn’t worth living if you’re not with me.

 

soft amber streetlight

wash out most of the starlight

man’s constellations

 

I’m startled as you throw open the bathroom door. I search your eyes for any sign of warmth, fishing for any semblance of our summer of holding hands and making out; of dreamy I-love-you’s or nothing-can-come-between-us’. I find nothing but midnight frost in them. You demand the pills, and I give them to you, still mining your eyes for the heart that once beat for me. Those eyes I quested were examining the pill bottle like a scientist coldly working a math formula in her head. You deduce out-loud to no one in particular that no more than seven pills should kill an adult male. When you tossed the pills back to me, I barely had time to catch them before hearing the door close behind you. And I’m alone again with the pills.

 

crisp, windy twilight

litter twirls and loops the night

I watch it falling

 

I stand, facing the bathroom mirror, trying and failing to fully contemplate my insignificance, not just in your world, but within my own. I had never actually considered taking the pills at first, but the way you coolly dismissed me shook me; had me looking at our universe – and my place in it – differently. I stared at myself, wondering what a fish saw when staring up at its own reflection instead of the planets, stars, and galaxies I saw when I stared up at the night sky. I was a small, pointless fish in an infinite pond with a vial of pills.

 

Venus outshines man

piercing our light pollution

curved in crescent form

 

A fish’s perception of reality is bound. Unlike a fish, my view is unbound. But in that bathroom, I was a fish, crippled by my own vision, staring at myself, failing to see our future together when the future valedictorian would dump you for a second time, compelling you to crawl back to me, compelling me to gladly take you back due to my poor self-esteem, leading to our ill-advised marriage and our dysfunctional decade-long dance of codependence that would end with me refusing to heed your pleas to hold our sham together a moment longer, leading me to love, loss, and mending in the arms of others until I would finally meet a woman willing to sit with me and stare up at the night sky together in wonder.

Like a fish, I am limited by my reality and cannot see my future, but I also couldn’t see any future in those pills. I place the pills on the sink and walk out of your bathroom, past your indifferent eyes, out of your door, leaving you to call our future valedictorian. Leaving you to our past. Leaving you to our future.

 

vapor clouds forming

crystalizing my exhales

chill cuts through my bones

** *

You’re not alone. Confidential help is available for free.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Call 1-800-273-8255

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Day 10 – Dessert

Dessert

You

my dark chocolate

sweet

earthy

 

when I nibble

you bite back

smearing tangy goodness

onto my sneering lips

 

within my mouth

I quest

cresting the center

of your melting point

 

drizzling down my chin

daring me to lick my fingers.

 

I crave more.

** *

Written for dVerse Quadrille #30, hosted by Mish (mishunderstood), where the safe word prompt word is drizzle. Drizzle made me think of candy for some reason… that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.  

Don’t forget to visit other poets’ take on this prompt.

Day 9 – Fear and Longing in Darkness

darkness

Image source: Unsplash.com

Fear and Longing in Darkness

Night comes

again.

I welcome and fear it

for its embrace

protects me not

from unknown specters

and she will

leave me barren

at sunrise

again.

 

Night, day;

irrelevant.

Terror slinks in gloom

but agony bites blindly,

my heart

seized by dark claws

till I plead for night’s

sweet release.

 

Yeah but

with a flick of my finger

billions of subatomic particles

will rush to banish the dark

maybe it is the night

who should fear me.

** *

Written for imaginary garden with real toads Twitter Me a Gothic Poem, imagined By Magaly Guerrero. We were challenged to write a poem with three stanzas, each stanza not to exceed 140 characters (a basic tweet, if you will). The first two stanzas, or “tweets” would be in the voice of one of the thirteen selected gothic writers, as if they’re having a twitter conversation. The third stanza was to be my reply or commentary to thr first two. The catch is that the whole thing is supposed to read as one piece.

I chose Edgar Allen Poe (1st stanza) because his work influences me quite a bit, and I chose Sylvia Plath (2nd stanza) because I identify with how she described her lifelong battle with depression.

I gotta say, this was one heck of a prompt! It was more challenging than I anticipated, but I greatly enjoyed this one. Real Toads is quietly becoming the front page of my window to the internet. Thanks for all the wonderful prompts, and keep em coming!

Day 8 – Perfectly Imperfect

garden

Perfectly Imperfect

Her old, lovely bones breathe

warped and creaking

with visions of what she could be

and past pitter-patters of

Saturday morning cartoons,

sleepovers, and birthdays.

 

She shelters me,

never passing judgement

should I sleep in on a Saturday.

 

Within her old, lovely bones,

I carved out a space for myself,

panting it in blues

impressed upon nostalgia from

the bluest oceans, coves, and depths;

when sunbeams enter on perfect angles,

my lungs fill with briny air of days long gone.

 

Her galley is a patchwork antiquated mess;

shams shimmied together in muddled nonsense

resembling the before photos of a makeover

that hasn’t happened yet, and

probably won’t for some time.

 

It gives her old bones character,

like an endearingly gapped-tooth

or the slurring lisp of a loved one.

 

Her living room, where I do

my least amount of living,

ties everything together.

 

Her redone floorboards

are coming undone

at some of the seams,

 

I can’t put too-positive a spin on floor damage

because they were expensive to redo,

though I do I blame the ghosts

of rambunctious children I’ve never met

pounding her hapless floors

running through their home,

before it became mine,

their laughter I’ve never heard

reverbing off the not-yet-blue walls.

 

This old girl shifts and creaks weirdly at times,

but she also whispers me to sleep

when rain pours onto her roof.

 

She is drafty and scantily insulated, but

she’s also a cool respite in sweltering summers.

 

She is unfortunately imperfect

and I’m perfectly lucky to have her.

 

Just beyond her walls though, I hear

there is a garden full of dead or dying foliage

that desperately needs tending,

but I don’t entertain such baseless rumors.

** *

Written for imaginary garden with real toads Hope and the Places That Heal You, hosted by  Sherry Blue Sky. Drop by and visit the other toads contributing to the pond!

Day 7 – untitled

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hazy shades of gray

lazily blurring the lines

I exist, but not

 

my blood rushes to color

the margins clutching my soul

***

A storm is brewing. We may lose power. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m also grey. 

Meh. Have a tanka. It’s all I got. 

Day 6 – Two Cats for One Hat (Or Snitches Get Snitches)

cathat

Image source: Google

Two Cats for One Hat (Or Snitches Get Snitches)

The sun did not shine.

It was nighttime, you see.

So I sat with my book

Just as bored as can be.

 

I sat there with Daddy.

Mom slept and I sat

I hoped I could read her

The Cat in the Hat.

 

We were almost done!

My treat was on track!

For next we would read

How the Cat would come back!

 

I saw where she hid my new

Treat!

Treat!

Treat!

Treat!

If I could sneak a peak

That would be cool and neat!

 

I would not make a BUMP!

That would make Mommy jump!

I snuck!

In the bottom drawer it sat!

I snuck!

Out with the next book

Of the Cat in the Hat!

Half done with the first

Why did I skip it like that?

 

I knew I was wrong

Breaking rules was not funny.

But I wanted to peek

Before the sun was sunny!

 

“I knew I could get away with my prize,”

I thought with a smile

“And Mommy will not wake or stir

Not for a while.

 

I will take a quick peek

Like a bad little sneak

And once my sneaking has peaked

With not even a squeak

I will un-sneak my sneak

Oh how Momma would freak!

But my sneak-game’s on-fleek!

She will never know

Of her son’s geeky streak!”

 

I climbed up the couch

By Daddy I sat

With my major awards

Two cats in one hat!

Dad looked and said “Hey!

How did you get that?

How did you get two cats?

You did not read the first hat!”

 

But I whispered, “No! No!

Please speak softly, OK?

Or you will wake up my Mom

She would take it away!”

Then I heard Mom yell loud,

“Bring that book back, B.J.!”

 

I scowled at my dad

Who laughed with a wink

I was so very mad

At that foul Father fink

As my sneak was un-snuck

I thought isn’t this rich?

Never would I have thunk

Dad was a punk-ass snitch!

** *

Written for imaginary garden with real toads Celebrating Children’s Poetry – Dreaming with Stacie, and shared on dVerse’s OpenLinkNight # 193. The prompt was for us to write a poem that draws upon our childhood imagination.

When I closed my eyes to speak to my younger self, I was instantly transported back to the 70’s. True story! I was about four, or as I liked to call it, “Four-and-a-half”. Mom was teaching me to read, and I took to it like a duck to water. This is where my nerdery began.

I was nowhere near emotionally developed enough to deal with a cliffhanger, and Mom was too tired to let me read the first book to her so I could get to the second one. I took matters into my own hands, and Dad ratted me out real sneaky like and laughed in my face after I got in trouble with Mom. I swear, if I had been big enough to kick an ass, his ass would’ve been the first one I kicked that night. It’s like dude never heard the old “Snitches get Stitches” nursery rhyme, Knaamean?

So yeah, I wanted to kick my dad’s ass that night. Dirty snitch! May his soul rest in peace.

Read other dVerse poets’ OLN poems here.